Takedown (An Alexandra Poe Thriller) (29 page)

She pointed at the bar. “Why don’t you get us some wine? I need to find the little girl’s room.”

“You’re gonna leave me here all by my lonesome?”

She gestured to a buxom blonde dancing vigorously nearby. “You can sightsee while I’m gone.”

Favreau smiled and rubbed Alex’s butt. “You’re something else, you know that? Don’t trip and fall into any billionaires’ beds. You’re all mine.”

Ugh
. She really despised this guy.

She pulled away from him and threaded through the crowd, exiting into a hallway at the rear of the ballroom. It was less noisy here, but not by much. She reached into her purse and activated the transmitter in her cell phone, then put the phone to her ear, feigning a call, in case anyone was watching.

“Warlock, do you read me?”

“Well, hello,” he said. “Glad you could join us.”

“I owe you an apology. I think I may have been wrong about that whole memory thing.”

“You?” he said. “How can that be possible?”

“Just tell me this—hotel key cards are encoded with data, right?”

“As anyone with a rudimentary understanding of technology should know, it’s how they communicate with the lock on your door.”

“You remember how Favreau had two key cards in his wallet?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he seemed very skittish tonight about letting them pass through the X-ray machine, and I keep thinking about the one we tried in his—”

“Oh, bugger, it’s a fake, isn’t it? That’s where he’s storing the codes.”

“That’s what I was about to say, yeah. That’s why it didn’t work.”

Warlock swore under his breath. “Why didn’t I see it? I had that bloody card in my hand…”

“None of us saw it,” Cooper chimed in. “So maybe he’s smarter than we think he is. Alex, you need to switch that thing out before he meets up with Valac.”

“With what?” she said. “I don’t have a duplicate. I left mine in my room. Besides, he has two of them. How would I know which one to switch?”

“Point taken. But you do have access to them, right?”

“More or less,” she said.

“Then take them both and hope he doesn’t notice until it’s too late.”

“And if he does?”

“We’ll make it up as we go along.”

“All right,” she said, “I’ll do what I can. Did you drop off the package?”

“Yes, and you’d better grab it while you have the chance. It’s in the restroom in the northeast corner of the house. I’m leaving there as we speak.”

“Good. I’m on my way.”

Alex returned the cell phone to her purse, swept past a group of chattering guests, and headed toward the drop point. Cooper passed her along the way, giving her a subtle nod. As she approached the restroom in question, she spotted a woman in a blue gown about to reach for the doorknob.

With two quick steps, Alex cut in front of her, saying, “I’m sorry, I
really
need to get in there,” then dodged inside and locked the door.

According to the blueprints, this was one of the smaller bathrooms in the house, yet it was bigger than her living room back home. She crossed to the toilet, removed the basket of potpourri on the tank, then lifted the lid and set it aside.

Right below the water line, wedged behind the flushing mechanism, was a black ziplock bag. She pulled it out, carried it to the sink, and opened it, removing a Kahr P380 micro compact pistol with a six-round magazine. It wasn’t much bigger than her hand.

She lifted her dress and carefully repositioned the tactical thigh holster she wore on her right leg. After sliding the P380 into place, she let the hem drop and inspected herself in the mirror.

No sign of any telltale bulges.

She dumped the plastic bag, returned the tank lid and potpourri basket, then flushed the toilet and headed for the door, bracing herself for what was to come.

W
HEN
SHE
GOT
back to the ballroom, Favreau was gone.

She looked toward the bar, but didn’t see him standing in line to order their drinks. She spun around and checked the dance floor, hoping she wouldn’t be assaulted by the sight of Favreau dancing, but didn’t see him there, either.

“Warlock, give me some help here.” She hoped he could hear her over the din of the music. “I’ve lost Favreau.”

“Not to worry, he’s at your two o’clock, getting some food, and chatting up a bird who could stand to lose a few.”

Alex turned and spotted Favreau standing by a caterer’s table, drinking a glass of wine as he spoke to the buxom blonde they’d seen dancing earlier. The blonde was filling a small plate high with food as if she was afraid she might miss out on something.

Instead of moving toward them, Alex stood with her hand on her hip, a look of mild disapproval on her face as she waited for Favreau to notice she had returned.

He finally spotted her and grinned. He said something to the blonde, picked up a second glass of wine, and headed Alex’s way. “I was starting to wonder if you’d ever come back.”

She nodded toward the blonde. “So you figured you’d arrange for a backup? I told you to sightsee, not rent a room and move in.”

He handed her the extra glass of wine. “Is that jealousy I’m hearing? That raises our relationship to a whole new level.”

She took hold of his jacket lapel, rubbing her thumb along it. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Frederic. I haven’t known you long enough to be jealous.”

“Maybe we can do something about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“After I’m done here, I’m headed back to Paris. You could come along. Spend some time.”

“And what about my job?”

“Come on,” he said. “You’ll never get anywhere working for those idiots. You come back with me, maybe we can figure out a game plan to launch your career. I’ll have the money to do it.”

“Really?”

“I like you, baby. I like being around you.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

He shook his head. “It’s not just that. You’re something special. I mean it.”

Alex had the dreaded realization that there was only one way she could react to this. And as much as the thought repulsed her, she knew it might give her the opportunity to grab those key cards.
 

Setting her glass of wine on a nearby table, she said, “You’re special, too,” then leaned in and kissed him—a good solid kiss that tasted like Chablis and tobacco and breath mints. She was reminded of that moment on the sofa and wanted to run away in horror, but they were in the thick of it now and running wasn’t an option.

She slipped her hands inside his jacket and caressed his ribcage, feeling more fat than bone, then carefully raised her right hand toward his left inner pocket, hoping the kiss was enough to keep him from noticing as she dipped the hand inside.

It was a difficult angle, and as she stretched her fingers past his wallet and cell phone, she had the sudden worry that maybe he’d put the cards back inside. But just as she thought his tongue couldn’t get any farther down her throat, she touched one of the key cards, then the second, and quickly clipped them between her index and middle finger.

She was about to pull them free when the music abruptly stopped, the lights went up and a brassy fanfare blasted over the speakers. Favreau broke away from the kiss and stepped back, startled, causing the cards to slip from Alex’s fingers.

Shit.

They both turned to look across the ballroom in time to see a man step onto a small portable stage and throw his arms into the air, waving at the crowd.

Leonard Latham.

Cheers and applause erupted, and he basked in the adulation as only a narcissist could, the expression on his face suggesting that every clap of the hands, every cheer, every shout of “Pappy Leo!” was well deserved.

He finally made a motion for silence and said, “Hope you’re all having a good time here in St. Cajetan.”

The crowd erupted again and Latham soaked it up. When the applause died down for a second time, he launched into a story about the creation of this wonderland, about how hard he had worked to carve out a place where those who had made something of themselves had no reason to be ashamed for who they were and how much wealth they had accumulated.

But his words were nothing more than a buzz in Alex’s brain. He could have recited the Gettysburg Address and she wouldn’t have noticed, because her gaze wasn’t on Latham at all, but on the man standing behind him, at the rear of the stage, looking out at the crowd. A tall man with curly gray hair whom Alex hadn’t seen for many years.

The man she had come here to kill.

Uncle Eric.

If it’s too much to ask, I’ll understand.

But was it too much?

As she stared at Eric Hopcroft in the flesh, and thought of the horror of her mother’s death, thought of that poem and of family and friendship and betrayal, the fury returned, this time with a colder, harder edge.
 

No, it wasn’t too much at all.

She wanted him dead.

Consider it done.

Then the speech was over and the crowd was roaring as the lights dimmed and the music began to
thump thump thump
and Alex no longer cared about key cards and codes and anything else to do with this goddamn op.
 

Favreau grinned and said, “So where were we?”

But she ignored him and moved into the crowd of dancers, shoving them aside as she headed across the room. Favreau called out behind her and Warlock began chattering in her ear—

“Alex, what’s wrong?”

And she ignored him, too, her gaze on Hopcroft and Latham and a small crew of muscle boys as they moved together in a group toward a side door.

“Alex,” Warlock said again. “Where are you going?”

And now Cooper chimed in. “Warlock, what’s going on?”
 

“I’m not sure, but she left Favreau and took off across the room, headed for the stage. Let me check another angle.”

“No,” Cooper told him. “Keep your eyes on Favreau. I think I know what she’s up to.”

Warlock answered in the affirmative and now Deuce spoke up. “Is Alex in trouble?”

“She’s fine, Deuce. Keep watching the house.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I feel pretty useless out—”

Alex jabbed a button on her cell phone, cutting the transmission, and kept moving. Hopcroft and the others were stepping into a hallway now, but Latham looked as if he wasn’t ready to leave. He said something to one of the muscle boys, and another one put a hand on his back and shoved him forward.

Alex picked up speed, trying to close the gap as they disappeared from view. She was less than three meters from the doorway, hiking up her dress as she moved, reaching for the P380 strapped to her thigh when Cooper stepped in front of her, blocking her passage.

“Alex, stop.”

She let the hem drop. “Get out of my way, Shane.”

He put his hands out. “Listen to me. I know there’s something going on that you’re not telling me about, and I know it has something to do with—”

“Move, or I swear to God I’ll hurt you.”

“No, you won’t, because that’s not who you are.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know
you
, all right? When I gave you those car keys yesterday, I knew where you were going, and I knew that it could jeopardize the mission, but I also knew you would calm down and come to your senses before you did anything foolish.”

“Good for you. Now
move.
”

“Hopcroft isn’t going anywhere. So calm down and think about what you’re doing, because going off half-cocked won’t—”

“He killed my mother, Shane. Do you get it now?” She felt tears in her eyes. “He was one of my father’s best friends and he killed her and I want to know why. I want to know why before I kill
him.
”

Cooper stared at her, stunned.

She stepped toward him. “Did you hear what I said?”

To her surprise, he stepped out of her way.

“Go on,” he said. “But I hope you’ve got some kind of plan, because you’re about to set off your own explosion and there’s no telling who may get caught in it.”

He was right and she knew it, but she couldn’t help herself.
 

She swept past him and reached for the pistol again, getting it in her hand as she moved into the hallway. She heard voices ahead and when she turned the next corner, she saw Latham and the muscle boys at the far end of the next hall, heading up a flight of stairs—

—but Hopcroft wasn’t with them.
 

Alex spun around to look behind her, but saw no one. The guests were all inside the ballroom and Hopcroft was nowhere to be—

“Hello, Allie Cat. Long time no see.”

She spun again and found Hopcroft standing in the middle of the hallway, smiling at her, with two of the muscle boys at his side.

“I think you and your friends need to come with us,” he said, nodding past her.

When she turned, she saw Cooper and Frederic Favreau being marched toward her down the hall, three more muscle boys holding them at gunpoint.

Looking as if he was about to piss his pants, Favreau’s eyes widened when he saw Alex. “What the hell
is
this, baby?”

One of the muscle boys slapped his head.

When she looked again at Hopcroft, he gestured to the pistol in her hand.
 

“You might want to drop that,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you get hurt before we’ve had a chance to catch up on old times.”

“A
LEX
?”

N
O
ANSWER
.

“Shane?”

Again, no answer.

“For Christ’s sake—Warlock, are
you
there?”

“I’m here, mate. Just trying to wrap my arse around what just happened. Both Alex and Shane are off comm.”

“Why? What the hell is going on?”

“We’ve got a situation on our hands.”

“What kind of situation?”

“The kind that involves half our bloody crew being taken hostage, along with Freddy boy.”

Silence.

“Deuce, did you read me?”

“We’ve gotta get in there.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment, but you may as well commit suicide. If these CCTV feeds are any indication, the guards are all on alert. It’s only a matter of time before they check to see if there are any more of us lurking about.”